


Lost and Found

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Multi, Pacific Rim!AU, because i can ok, not sorry, sorry - Freeform, warnings for violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:28:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he loses his best friends, Enjolras doesn't think he'll ever be able to pilot a jaeger again.</p><p>But when the UN cut off the Jaeger Program's funding, he might be forced to do just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Get up, loser, we’re gonna take down kaijus.”

Enjolras rolls over and opens his eyes to glare at Courfeyrac, whose face is only inches away from his own.

“What the hell, Courf, this is not the time to quote Mean Girls,” he grumbles, throwing off his covers and sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“He’s right,” Combeferre says from across the little room, and they both turn to look at him. He’s almost completely dressed, and is going through the file that accompanied the alert, glasses slightly askew and hair sticking up in every direction. “We’ve got a big one, guys, and we need to go now.”

Courfeyrac huffs indignantly, but goes to pull on a pair of jeans, as well as his boots. Enjolras hops off the bed, and dresses quickly, and they leave immediately after.

They walk through the always bustling halls, Courf singing some terrible pop song as they’re being suited up.

They then make their way to the head of their jaeger, stepping into their respective spots and letting the machine lock them in place.

“Evening, boys,” a voice crackles through the speakers and into their helmets. “Well, more morning, given the time, but no matter.”

“Hey, Musichetta,” Enjolras says, flipping switches and making the adjustments he needs to on his end of things. “Tired?” he asks, smiling when the woman groans.

“Don’t even get me started, for God’s sake, you have no idea.” She says, and Combeferre laughs. “Don’t even, ‘Ferre, ok, I’ve been up for 36 hours, now. I’m pretty sure my blood is like, 93% coffee at this point.”

At this Courfeyrac moans. “I could kill for a coffee right now.”

“Well, it just so happens that you’ll have to do just that,” Bahorel’s voice filters through to them. “There’s a level 3 kaiju headed towards the coast as we speak.”

The sounds of a slight scuffle follow, and Musichetta proudly announces, “I’ve named him Taurax!”

“Yes, alright, ‘Chetta, thank you. Anyways, your orders are to take it down with minimal damage to the city and its inhabitants.”

“But sir, there’s a civilian ship out in the water,” Courfeyrac says, enlarging the radar so the others can see it too. “What do we do about that?”

“Don’t worry,” Bahorel says quickly. “Your concern—”

“Is in keeping civilians safe, sir. Why are these people exceptions?” Enjolras cuts in, looking at the screen accusingly, as if it were the director himself.

“There is a total of 6 men on that boat, and 8 million people in the city.” Bahorel says, his voice dangerously low. “I’m not risking their lives, or your own, for that matter, for the sake of a few fishermen who are out on the water in the middle of the night! You have your orders, now follow them.”

There’s a tense silence from the crew of Blind Justice, all of them fuming and communicating with their eyes and facial expressions.

“Yes, sir,” Enjolras finishes by forcing out through gritted teeth.

“Ok! Get ready for the drop, guys,” Musichetta’s musical voice warns cheerfully, and then they’re hurtling down into the body of their jaeger. They immediately begin running checks on everything, making sure it’s all in working order.

“How is everything?” ‘Chetta asks, seeming slightly concerned.

“She’s beautiful, of course,” Courf says, grinning.

“Awesome,” she says, a smile in her voice. “Ok, so; commencing neural handshake in 3, 2, 1—”

Her voice is lost to Enjolras as he is sucked into the memories. Flashes of soccer games, tests aced and tests failed, graduations, their acceptance into the Jaeger program; all of their biggest and strongest moments from their 15 years of companionship wrapped up into seconds of reminders at the beginning of every drift. They all fall into sync in unison, opening their eyes and laughing and smiling at one another, glad to be able to recall those moments.

“Alright, all’s good?” Musichetta asks, clicking away at her mouse and typing away at something. 

“Yep,” ‘Ferre says. “Motion sync in 1, 2, 3--”

The three friends all move the same way, stepping back with their right feet and lifting their curled fists like a boxer in the ring, and the jaeger does the same.

They can hear the clattering of applause in the background of Musichetta’s microphone, and Courfeyrac inclines his head, as if they could see him. Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“I know you’re rolling your eyes, Enjolras, I do happen to be inside your head,” Courf says threateningly, and when Enjolras only repeats the motion, Courf latches on to a memory of one of their playful scuffles, where Enjolras ended up on his back, arms above his head, pinned by a smirking Courfeyrac.

“Hey!” Enjolras cries out indignantly.

“Alright, boys, cut it out,” ‘Chetta admonishes, not unlike a mother chastising her kids. “You’re going to need to get out there, he’s coming in fast.”

“Got it,” Combeferre says, and they begin walking the Jaeger out of the holding dock and into the water.

“You guys ready?” Enjolras asks, and the other two turn to look at him.

“Of course, man,” Courfeyrac says, and Combeferre nods.

“Yeah, we’re always alright. It’ll be easy, I mean we’ve done this loads of times, right? We’ll be awesome, and then we’ll get back in no time. We might even be back in bed before 7.” He says, grinning.

Enjolras returns the smile, and they begin to wade out into deeper waters. 

It’s relatively quiet in the jaeger, until Combeferre warns them that they’re approaching the civilian ship.

“Don’t touch it,” Bahorel reminds them, and they don’t respond. Enjolras cracks a smile when Courfeyrac mockingly imitates the director.

The silence returns, broken only by Musichetta’s rushed whisper of, “He’s gone, do it now.”

The three immediately reach for the small vessel, gripping it from underneath and pulling it out of the water. Just as they’re about to deposit it in the direction of the shore behind them, the kaiju—or “Taurax!” as Musichetta calls out as a warning—launches itself out of the water to collide with Blind Justice’s right shoulder.

“Shit!” Combeferre yells as they fall forward, and Enjolras grits his teeth as they work to straighten themselves back up and deliver a blow to the kaiju.

“Go!” Enjolras hollers over the loudspeaker at the tiny boat, which promptly whirls around and hauls ass towards the mainland.

The three turn Blind Justice around to face the kaiju, and engage with it properly.

The crew are all strong fighters, the best the force has, but this kaiju is strong. He manages to disable their biggest guns, located in the jaeger’s arms, and their swords can only do so much.

Suddenly, Taurax rips into the head of the jaeger, where the crew is housed, tearing a chunk off, and Combeferre cries out in pain making the other two freeze and turn to look at him.

“’Ferre!” Courfeyrac yells over the din of the ocean. “What happened, are you okay?”

Combeferre only cries out louder, sobs cutting into the yells, and Enjolras can feel his emotions through the drift; pain, fear, confusion, disappointment, anger, pain. He can feel Courf’s emotions too, stronger even, because he’s feeling the same things; panic, fear, distress, sadness, and anger.

“Talk to me!” Courfeyrac yells again. “Please, what do you --”

Before he’s finished the sentence, the kaiju’s claw swings again, this time crushing Courfeyrac and Combeferre and sinking into the neck of the jaeger.

“Courf! ‘Ferre!” Enjolras screams as the monster pulls its arm away and throws the debris and Enjolras’ best friends into the ocean behind it.

A sob bubbles up behind his teeth, but he swallows it back and attacks the kaiju while it’s momentarily caught off guard, bringing the sword down diagonally from its left shoulder and deep into its chest. He listens in sick satisfaction as the creature shrieks and roars as it dies, sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

Enjolras can vaguely hear Musichetta’s panicked voice in his helmet, but his ears are ringing as he somehow turns the jaeger around and walks it back to shore. As soon as he’s sure he’ll be able to get out on land, he lets go of the controls, letting the giant metal structure fall onto the sand. He unlocks himself from the restraints holding him in place, and pulls himself out in a daze. 

He’s greeted by a young girl, no more than 16 years old, and two younger children, who run over to him and support him as his knees give out.

“Get help!” he hears the oldest girl yell to the others, but she sounds far away. Suddenly, his hearing comes back in a rush when the girl finally yanks his helmet off and cradles his head. He can hear the sounds of the sea, dreadful to him now, as well as the morning winds and broken sobbing. He looks at the girl, who has tears in her eyes but doesn’t seem to be crying, and realizes that the helpless sobs are coming from him.

“It’s okay,” the girls says, petting his hair out of his face and smiling softly. “It’s all okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Enjolras says, and passes out.


	2. In Which Bahorel Calls for a Favor

“No!” Enjolras cries, bolting upright in his bed, eyes as wild as his hair and chest heaving with each panicked breath. 

“No,” he whispers, the images of his friends’ deaths from his dream still flashing through his mind as he sinks back into his mattress, closing his eyes in what he knows is a useless attempt to try and fall back asleep. He lies there anyways, trying not to think too much as the sun rises and casts its soft light into the small room.

When the warm glow has reached Enjolras’ face, the blond man sits up again, and rubs his face to dislodge the sleep that rests heavy behind his eye. He sighs, hopping down from his bed and going to the small kitchenette and making himself a coffee.

Its early still – he’s got about an hour before he needs to be at the wall in time to guarantee himself a shift – so he takes his time in getting ready and actually getting to the wall. He hops on the first bus he sees, making small talk with another worker, who has three kids and a wife at home.

“Every day’s a risk,” the man says with a resigned shrug. “I leave every morning not really expecting to come home.”

Enjolras’ heart aches painfully for him, and he files the story away as another one that he’ll make use of some day, when he’s able to keep a group together long enough to make a difference.

He and the man wait in the huge room as everyone else files in, all talking about the kaiju attack that hit Sydney the night before, the report on which is being shown on the large televisions hung in the area.

“If it wasn’t for the crew of the Blue Poppy, the city would have certainly been razed to the ground.” The reporter says, and the footage of the kaiju tearing through the wall built to protect the city. “Knifehead, as he’s being called, broke through the wall of life in less than 45 minutes, leading the citizens of Sydney questioning the value of the continued efforts to finish the structure.

“Why are we even here?” Someone in the crowd cries, and everyone else roars in agreement.

“It’s bullshit!” Enjolras yells, unable to control himself. The crowd turns to face him, and he jumps up onto a ledge so he can be seen better. “Everyone here is working tirelessly, every day, trying to pull in some income to support your families and keep them safe. We’re all promised over and over again that this wall is the answer, that it’ll keep us safe and keep the monsters away. But the more they’re tested, the more we find ourselves wondering if these so called ‘Walls of Life’ we’re slaving away to make to keep the kaijus out? Or are they to keep us in?” At this a low murmur goes through the workers, and Enjolras knows that he’s hit a nerve, both with the civilians, as well as with the supervisors, who are pushing their way through the crowd to reach him.

“The answer is, regrettably, that the higher-ups of the government don’t have time for the poor, working class population, and that their focus, as always, is on the rich, who are constantly moving inland, away from danger, away from –”

The speech is cut short when Enjolras is tackled to the ground by a hefty man, who holds the blond’s arms behind his back like it’s nothing and lifts him up and away from the now properly riled up crowd, ignoring as he struggles.

The man shoves him roughly into an empty office, and slams the door behind himself when he leaves. Enjolras sighs, running a hand through his hair as he grins despite himself, heart beating loudly in his chest in a much better way than it had earlier.

He’s left to pace around the small space for nearly three hours, muttering to himself about the government and trying not to let his thought wander back to this morning’s dream by reciting his rights over and over again.

Suddenly, the lock clicks and the door opens, making Enjolras turn to look expectantly at it as a man he recognizes slides in.

“Bahorel?” Enjolras asks, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

Bahorel sighs a little, but he’s smiling. “And hello to you too, Enjolras,” He says. “How have you been holding up? It’s been quite a while.”

“How do you think I’ve been?” Enjolras asks bitterly, and his friends’ deaths play across his eyelids as he closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. “What about you? I heard about what they’re doing to the program, by the way. I’m really sorry.”

Bahorel huffs and a corner of his mouth goes up. “So do you wanna help me?”

Enjolras looks up, and his eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. “What?” He asks, almost laughing. When Bahorel doesn’t respond, he wipes the smile off his face and clears his throat. “What?”

“We need you to come work with us again,” Bahorel says. “We’ve got a plan, and we need the best pilots we can get our hands on.”

“So you’ve come all the way to here, to Alaska, to ask me to come to Hong Kong, despite the recent news of your program’s funding being cut off?” Enjolras asks, and sits on the edge of the desk, regarding the director with reservation. “You must really be pulling at strings, here.”

“We are,” Bahorel says with a sigh, going to join the blond on the desk. “But most of the other pilots are dead. We really need you.”

They sit in silence, and Enjolras is thinking about what he’s been through, and how he doesn’t want to go through it again.

“Look, Bahorel,” he says finally, rubbing a hand over his face. “I want to help you, but I honestly don’t know. I had two people in my head one second, and then the next, nothing.” He shakes his head. “I don’t—I—I’ll come. But if it gets to be too much, I can’t promise I’ll stick around.”

Bahorel lets out a long breath, and when Enjolras looks at him, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you,” he says, and some of the tension seems to have seeped out of his shoulders.

Enjolras sighs, but smiles back, following the director out of the room, past of all the inquisitive faces of the other workers, and into the black military helicopter.

The flight to Hong Kong is uneventful, with Bahorel briefing Enjolras on what has happened since he left. Enjolras knows all this already, though, having read every single thing he could get his hands on regarding the program, keeping tabs on his friends.

It’s raining in Hong Kong when they land, and Bahorel keeps complaining about getting his hair wet.

“He’d better be there, I swear to God,” the man grumbles, looking for something to hold over his head. He finds an important looking folder, flips through the papers inside and shrugs. “It’ll do.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and pulls the door open, and the rain is like a wall. Bracing himself, he jumps out into it, and finds himself almost immediately drenched.

“Fuck,” someone says from beside him, the thick French accent surprising him. He turns around and sees a man, maybe a couple of years older than himself, struggling to open an enormous umbrella, while also attempting to keep himself dry under the one he’s holding. He finally manages to open the other umbrella with an enthusiastic “Ouais!” just as Bahorel steps out of the helicopter and under the umbrella.

“Thank you, Grantaire,” Bahorel says, and the man inclines his head in response. “Grantaire, this is Alexander Enjolras; Alex, this is Jean-François Grantaire.”

The two men smile at each other and shakes hands, and Grantaire comes away from it grinning, eyes sparkling.

“Il est différent de ce que j’imaginais,” he says, and his voice is deep and rich and comforting.

'Like chocolate' Enjolras thinks instinctively.

Wait, what?

Shaking his head a little, Enjolras smirks and raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to be heard over the noise of the rain and the work going on and says, “Différent en une bonne façon, ou...?”

Grantaire’s eyes widen a little, but he grins brightly and winks.

“Différent en une très bonne façon,” he says, looking Enjolras up and down, making the blond shift a little. “Très bonne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is their conversation translated from French to English for those who don't speak French:
> 
> "He's different from what I imagined," he says, and his voice is deep and rich and comforting.
> 
> Shaking his head a little, Enjolras smirks and raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to Be Heard over the noise of the rain and the work going on and says, "Different in a good way, or ...?"
> 
> "Different in a good way," he says, looking up and down Enjolras, making the shift a little blond. "Very good."
> 
> As per usual this is for Adrienne ok because she's awesome and I love her.
> 
> Also for Kim!!!! who has a really amazing pacific rim au too so go check that out at courageandcheer
> 
> There seems to be a lot of sighing in this chapter. Oops.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes hello
> 
> Ok so the song Courf is singing is Clarity by Zedd because I was listening to that song the entire time I was writing this.
> 
> The order of them in the jaeger is (from left to right if you're looking into the face of the jaeger)
> 
> Combeferre, Coureyrac, Enjolras
> 
> Also this is mainly for Adrienne (dropples.tumblr.com) as usual who supported my ideas and basically inspired me to write this so thank you, love.
> 
> Please come check me out on tumblr too! marcobodttt.tumblr.com


End file.
